It’s difficult to find writings about the Smith siblings which differentiate their artistry from their privilege, and I think that’s incredibly unfortunate. Like yes, we are aware that their family does pretty well within the entertainment business (see: Fresh Prince of Bel-Air still airs, and is still watched by me, every evening), but let that not discredit what both Willow and Jaden are doing. They’re not just messing around in studios singing songs other people have penned for them and then having to have them heavily autotunned, they have genuine ability – and they’re actually doing something with it.

F-Q-C #7, heavily divorced from previous hair whipping antics, seems to have tied in the spiritual elements the Smith’s are most heavily critiqued for expressing. But, instead of slamming these interests for deluded teenage pretention, why not just take it for what it is within the artistic content and appreciate it – even if it is at face value – for the sake of the music’s intent. Too many times viewers discredit the artist for their intents, divorcing motivation from the final outcome. However, removing an element which was important for the artist reduces the final outcome: tailoring it to a viewer’s preconception as opposed to what it was meant to be, which is a problem. You can’t just immediately make something out to be a certain way because you feel it should be so, art doesn’t work like that.

The vibe exuding from the track is largely just hella-cool. Like, it is interesting – which isn’t an adjective I tend to use with regards to music. However, this track is the exception. It has been orchestrated in such a way that I feel that if my consciousness were to drift momentarily, even a fraction of a second, I will have missed something. This potentially has something to do with the xylophone – the rogue instrument taking centre stage threw my awareness off slightly. The combination of the xylophone with the incredible tone of Willow’s voice overall credits the track. It secures it as a piece of artistry, something genuine that we shouldn’t let media preconceptions about the siblings cloud. It’s just hella cool, though me saying “hella” does cast doubt on my credibility as a measurer of what is cool.

And if you’re still throwing shade on the authenticity and validity of what both Willow and Jaden Smith are doing, I’ve listed some stuff below that should hopefully shift your viewpoint, or not… whatever, I can’t control you.

I’m not saying separate the art from the artist, because I think that many a time that could potentially be problematic, and that for some, art is just an extension of the artist. I am, however, saying that in this particular case do not let negativity surrounding factors that are beyond their control negatively impact the reception and the validity of what the Smith’s are doing.

It’s obvious that I haven’t been posting on here since… November. I am aware. Yes. And it’s probably obvious by now that I have absolutely no excuse. But I will start again… soon. I’m thinking by June (after exams have been and gone) you will be getting regular musical wonderings (aka posts) once again. I apologize for the undue and unexplained absence.

In order to bring myself back to some sort of reality after my recent (forever ingrained within the internet…), overstimulated, excitable babble over Rivka, I am injecting some sort of rock and roll edge to steady me in the form of Darlia.

Darlia – a derivation of the flower Dahlia – capture quintessential youthful British Rock, recognisable without a need for googling their geographical info. Their sound shouts of latent youthful days, appropriate considering they only released their debut EP “Knock Knock” a month ago. The three tracks encased within this impressive debut have a remarkably professional edge to them, whist retaining every fraction of punky-rock and roll they are able to muster… which is a lot.

RIVKA leaves me speechless, which is slightly insufferable with my purpose of being here being to describe in word-form what you could easily just listen to yourself in sound-form, which I now recommend you do for “Drift”. It combines almost everything I have every pinpointed as loving in a song, and presents it in a muted fashion so as not to become unbearable or agitated, but weightless, ethereal… finding a perfect balance and holding the listener there in some celestial fantasia.

RIVKA’s “Drift” is a track which has unquestionably secured itself within my “all time favorites”, for the way it grabs you in, sends you away, twists and twirls around you then tosses you into the clouds and cushions you down to the ground again, all the while whispering melancholic wonders into your ears, leaving you in a state of eternal ethereal contemplation and illusion. *

*NOTE: The overwrought adjectives and imagery result because of my inability to put into words what this track puts into sound, so don’t listen to me, listen to it. Ignore my overstimulated, mindless babble.

This post is being formed in lieu of struggling through a history essay which is fogging my mind and fraying it round the edges, making my thought process somewhat clouded and incoherent; which evidences what a focused and driven student I truly am…

Folly & the Hunter are another band heralding from Montreal, which already validates them, their music and their whole creation without any further explanation. Though, their music wavers slightly more so away from the underground~synthy~experimental type of music that I tend to associate with Montreal on that Rapture, being in itself more folky and obtainable to the wider listener – without sacrificing any of its musical integrity. The lyrics tell a tale of wonder with the musical score taking you up and floating you down in a surreally swift motion, with also an equal sense of underlying heartache; like a beautiful breakdown. I’m not one for deeming occasions where one should listen to a particular track… but if I was to, it would definitely be if you were to find yourself watching for deer at dawn… which for me, living in a deer park, seems highly pertinent.

There is an obviously frank juxtaposition the way White Lies are being described with dark, harrowing adjectives, but the latter end of the name being “Lies” suggests there is much more than surface value, but indeed something secret, slightly possessive and deeper to the music and the carefully, meticulously formed sounds.

Compelling, shifty, meandering with a dark, dense treacle like quality – hitting off and enrapturing qualities from wide-stretched genres panning from metal to boy band-pop; White Lies are displaying their musical prowess and quality in their latest album “Big TV” – which they described as a compilation not of something new, but of something refined in which they have sought to purify their sound.

The vocals hang implicitly on a wire of musical certainly and retain a steady and strong balance, not breaking in the affectionate indie-type fashion of which, as a collective, we’re become all the too immune to, but displaying instead that their uniqueness and mastery does not need to be defined by some alt-style vocalist with an uncertain yet charming edge.

The music as a whole creeps up on itself, pulling and edging the listener along with it. Shadowy but utterly cool, the mystery seeps in more and more as the track pushes itself along a second at a time; the seconds upon seconds unravelling the blissful confidence and stride of the song, as each element, each component is given time to be valued.

Contemplation fills you as you ponder the twinkling, magical value that the song hangs above you, slightly beyond your comprehension but near enough to inspire awe and fascination; you are compelled to find out more, open up your realms of knowledge in further discovery, bury deeper not just inside the record but inside yourself as the emotions trapped, released and realised within the music arouse an awakening within yourself as the roots and causing’s of the songs are mirrored and reflected back into you the listener, forcing involvement, binding you in commitment to the music.

The music is altered from the usual DIY, experimental type I so often write in awe about, but instead has such a refined yet obviously edgy and with a definite confidence – that is careful in not over spilling into cockiness – aspect to it; the band and the album are a gem that affixes itself between not being outlaws, yet not selling out – instead perfecting strong, personable and damn catchy, in the most beautifully annoying compelling way, music.